


Never Compromise

by Sarah1281



Series: Dragon Age Character Prompts [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Backstory, One Shot Collection, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 22,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/pseuds/Sarah1281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders had always known that he wanted to be free, even before he was taken to the Circle, and he wasn't about to let anything or anyone convince him otherwise no matter where the path to freedom may lead him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

Anders didn't bother to open his eyes or sit up when he woke up. He was pretty sure (but not completely positive as he couldn't see the sun and so was attempting to keep track based on his meals) that he had been in solitary confinement for 87 days. That still left 278 days that he was going to be trapped in this maddeningly empty room with nothing to do and no human contact. He wondered how in the world he was going to keep his sanity.

"Or have I already lost it?" he murmured. Normally, one would think that talking to themselves was a sign of insanity but he didn't think he could go an entire year without speaking and it wasn't like anyone else was willing or able to speak to him. The Templars shoved food and water into his room twice a day and emptied the waste only once and they always made sure to be completely silent and stoic. Honestly, it was really starting to make him long for the days when they had been comparably garrulous and light-hearted.

"Maybe I shouldn't have escaped." The words escaped before Anders had time to process them and they shook him. He had always believed that escape was the only option when it came to the Circle, even before he had been captured for the first time and brought there. That belief hadn't wavered through the years of imprisonment in the Tower and the four escapes before this one. But now they locked him in a room for 87 days and the knowledge that he had been in there for less than a fourth of the time that he would and suddenly he was questioning one of his oldest and most deeply-held beliefs.

There was a scratching sound suddenly and Anders' head shot towards the noise. There was a kitten scratching at the door. It was little, fluffy, and ginger.

"How did you get in here?" Anders wondered aloud. He frowned as a disconcerting thought occurred to him. "Are you even in here or have I started hallucinating? I suppose that will make the time go quicker although it may cause problems once my sentence is up. And you'd think I could come up with some more interesting hallucinations. And preferably some female ones."

The kitten turned at the sound of his voice and revealed deep blue eyes that looked to be too big for its face. It wobbled over to him.

Anders hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on the kittens head. It was as soft as it looked. On the one hand, the fact that he could touch it meant that it was likely not a hallucination. On the other, it could just mean that he was even crazier than he thought he was. "How did you even get in here?" he murmured, beginning to stroke the kitten's fur. "I hope you're not trapped like me. They never seem to give me any cat food so you wouldn't be able to eat very well."

The kitten simply purred up at him. Anders couldn't help but smile. Ferelden might have been a land obsessed with dogs but mages barely counted as part of Ferelden anyway and he had always been more fascinated by cats. They were so much more dignified than dogs and so much more sensible. If they were in a bad situation – say, stuck inside the Circle Tower – then they weren't going to be happy about it and would make sure to let everyone around them know about it.

"Fine, don't answer me," Anders said in faux-indignation. Even if he knew that the kitten – probably – wouldn't answer back, it was such a relief to finally be speaking to something else after so long. He could try talking to the Templars, of course, but he didn't want to come off as desperate. "But if you're going to be here and you won't tell me your name then I'm going to have to call you something."

Anders had never had a pet before. Mages weren't allowed to keep them at the Tower (for no reason that Anders could see except that the Templars were trying to suck every last ounce of joy out of the world) and before that his mother hadn't thought that he was old enough to have one before he had first done magic in front of her and she became convinced that a pet was too much responsibility to pile on top of the tremendous pressure to keep his gifts hidden. As Anders was so inexperienced with pets, he really had no idea what to call the thing.

A quick glance showed Anders that this kitten was a boy. "Mr.…" Was Mr. a silly way of starting off a pet's name? It only seemed polite to make it clear that this small thing was a boy so it didn't have all manner of curious mages and Templars staring at its genitalia all the time. "Mr. …" Great, now he couldn't think of anything. The kitten didn't have to have the most profound name in the world, he just had to be called something. Mr. Kitten? No, that was almost embarrassing. What to call him, what to call him.

"Mr. Wiggums," Anders said suddenly. It was literally the first thing that had popped into his head. He thought that he had known a Wiggums once, long ago, who had been kind to him and had owned a cat. It was as good a name as any, he supposed.

Mr. Wiggums responded to this by purring again.

Anders grinned. "I take it you like that name, huh? Good because if I had told you my second choice then you'd probably be ashamed to be seen with me. Not that anyone besides those bucket-heads are going to be seeing me anytime soon."

The door slammed open then and Anders automatically glanced up to see two Templars entering his room. They didn't so much look at him as one replaced his waste bucket with a fresh one and the other took his empty food tray and left a full one in its place. They said nothing and they were in the room for perhaps two minutes. It was the only human contact he would be getting for hours. Anders closed his eyes and tried to tell himself that he wouldn't have wanted to talk to one of them anyway. He had much better company anyway.

Anders glanced down at Mr. Wiggums only to discover that the kitten was no longer there. His eyes darted around the room, trying desperately to find his newfound feline companion. It was no use, however. Mr. Wiggums simply wasn't there.

Anders sighed. Well that was fun while it lasted. Still, he had to believe that Mr. Wiggums would come back. As sad as it was to admit it, his very sanity could very well be depending on it.


	2. 'He certainly hadn't expected that to happen.'

He certainly hadn't expected that to happen. That Namaya would be angry with him after how they'd left things was practically a given. That Rylock might not be too keen to let him escape the so-called templar 'justice' after darkspawn had killed the templars that had been holding him prisoner mere moments before the Warden-Commander Angélique Amell had stumbled across him was also not exactly a surprise. That Rylock would ignore both the Crown and the Rite of Conscription to try and come after him anyway and that Namaya would somehow be in on it was a bit of a surprise. The most stunning turn of events, by far, was that Angélique had a problem with all of this and had called upon a golem friend of hers that was in Amaranthine with Wynne to crush Rylock and her men.

Anders had so many questions he hardly knew where to start. "Where did you even come from?" he demanded of the golem.

"I was waiting right outside," the golem explained. "If the fancy mage or the squashed templars had bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention then they would have realized that there had not actually been a statue there earlier."

Anders tilted his head. "The fancy mage? Is that me?"

"Obviously," the golem told him. "Although not that I think of it, the stupid mage would work just as well."

"The fancy mage…" Anders repeated, flashing his trademark smirk. "I like it."

"It would," the golem said derisively.

"Angélique, I can't believe that you'd be willing to stick up for me like that," Anders said, shaking his head in disbelief. Yes, Angélique was a fellow mage but she was also kind of…special. Anders was sleeping with her, of course, because she was gorgeous and willing but she had an almost obscene degree of self-absorption that really made him doubt that he liked her all that much. Still, she did just save him from Rylock's zealotry and so he really shouldn't be so hard on her.

"Of course I would!" Angélique declared, her bright violet eyes wide. "As Warden-Commander I claimed you first and if Rylock wanted a sexy apostate that badly then she really should have found her own. It's only polite, you know."

"Yes, we cannot forget about civility or we have become truly lost," Anders agreed, feeling vindicated in his decision to sleep with whoever he met that was pretty, willing, and not obviously a templar as it had just saved him.

"It's especially tacky as I'm still so very upset that Alistair practically clung to Anora whenever he saw me after the Landsmeet and they got engaged," Angélique added. "I mean, couldn't he see that I was hurting here?"

Anders had seen King Alistair when he had been conscripted and it was hard to tell from the way that the man flinched whenever he accidentally glanced Angélique's way but Anders got the vague impression that maybe he didn't like the girl all that much. He'd heard something about them having been together at some point although he'd really never have guessed it. "Yes, well, in my experience templars are often lacking for manners. Out of curiosity, was there any reason that you saved me besides the fact that we're sleeping together and you thought she was rude?" Surely there must be some deeper reason as the idea that anyone could actually be that shallow disturbed him greatly.

Angélique frowned as she thought about it and began to play with her long, luscious golden hair. "Hm…I suppose that there's always the fact that all of the Orlesian Wardens got themselves brutally murdered by the darkspawn that Mary and I were able to dispatch with ease when I first arrived at the Keep."

It took Anders a moment to realize that she meant Mhairi. "And so you were just in the process of a mad recruitment drive?" he prompted.

"Pretty much," Angélique confirmed. "I tried to recruit some more people but they started hiding from me so that didn't go so well."

"But surely the fact that you were willing to go up against three templars when you yourself are a mage and everyone else was off in the tavern must mean you had some sort of reason," Anders said, beginning to get a little desperate.

"Not really," Angélique disagreed cheerfully. "You just asked if we could go in this interesting-looking building and I didn't have anything better to do. I didn't actually realize that your phylactery was supposed to be in here."

"But even if you weren't listening when I kept talking about just that very thing, Rylock asked you to turn me over and you didn't," Anders pointed out.

Angélique shrugged. "Well, it's like I said. I claimed you fair and square and it's not like she didn't have her chance. Besides, I didn't even have to do anything as Shale came in and crushed them all. We would have had a much more difficult time fighting them than she did and she gets so little joy in her life so who was I to deny her this?"

"If only one of them were a bird," the golem – apparently Shale – said wistfully.

Apparently it was fully possible to be just that shallow. Despite the fact that Anders rarely admitted to anything deeper himself, this was still quite a disturbing discovery and still quite unexpected although for different reasons than he had initially thought. Instead of discovering that Angélique had any hidden depths, he had discovered that even her visible ones were actually nonexistent.

It was a good thing that they had arranged to meet up with the others at the tavern when they were done here because he definitely needed a drink. He hadn't actually thought it was possible, but he had just been saved from the templars and still managed to lose some last vestige of faith in humanity.

He certainly hadn't expected that to happen.


	3. Leaving Anders in Charge of the Vigil

Anders opened his eyes slowly. His head felt like the templars had been kicking him there while he slept but, aside from the fact that that would probably have woken him up, he was nearly positive that he hadn't so much as seen a templar in over a week. What had happened?

Anders sat up even more slowly – which did nothing for his mutinying head – and looked around to try and figure out what had happened. The last thing he could remember was…well, he couldn't actually remember what the last thing he could remember was and that was probably not a good sign, particularly as he'd been left in charge with the actual Warden-Commander, Angélique Amell, was off in Antiva doing…well, he wasn't quite sure what. Something about some birds having stolen her sword? At least she took Shale with her. That golem really didn't get have enough joy in her life.

_"Alright, that does it," Angélique had declared angrily, her long golden hair swishing from side to side alluringly as she paced. "Ignacio promised me that there would be no more contracts on me and that they would leave me alone but those stupid birds keep coming after me! It was bad enough when the banns managed to talk them into trying to assassinate me again but to steal my sword, too?"_

_"What did it expect?" Shale had asked rhetorically. "Birds are evil."_

_"And they must be crushed," Angélique agreed with a sudden, decisive nod. "Hey, Zevran. You were talking about going after them at some point, right? How about right now?"_

_"Well, it was just an idea I was tossing around," Zevran corrected. "Sooner or later they'll discover I'm alive but there's really no hurry. On the other hand, you're incredibly beautiful and almost disturbing good at killing things so why not?"_

_"Commander, you can't just leave!" Nathaniel protested._

_"And why not?" Angélique had demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm the Warden-Commanding Arlessa who just happens to also be the Hero of Ferelden. I can do whatever I sodding want to."_

_"But Antiva is so far away and this endeavor of your will surely either end in your death or at least be quite time-consuming," Nathaniel pointed out. "You need to leave somebody in charge of the Vigil." Clearly, the Howe expected that that would be him and as he was the only vaguely responsible Warden around, that made a great deal of sense. Maker knew he already ended up doing most of Angélique's job for her on a regular basis._

_"Good point," Angélique conceded reluctantly. "Hm…I know! How about Anders take charge?"_

_"I…do not think that that's the wisest decision, Commander," Nathaniel said, sounding strained. Anders could see what was upsetting him. If he was going to be the second-in-command who did all the work then it was only fair that he be treated as the second-in-command and be put in charge when Angélique wasn't there._

_"Why me?" Anders asked curiously._

_Angélique shrugged. "Oh, you know. I'm a mage, you're a mage. We're both human, gorgeous, and blonde…really, it'll be like I never left!"_

After taking a moment to mentally shudder at the thought that he and Angélique had that much in common (although they did share the things she had mentioned, naturally), Anders decided to just accept it. How could one really argue with that kind of logic anyway?

Anders started choking when he realized that he was lying beside that infamous killjoy Garavel. Fortunately, a quick glance under the covers revealed that they were both wearing pants. Still, best remove himself from the situation before someone came by and got the wrong idea.

He was a bit unsteady on his feet as a great wave of nausea came over him but he managed to force it back down. Anders was beginning to suspect that he'd had a great deal of alcohol last night. In fact, he was even beginning to wonder if he had – dare he say it – partaken in some of Oghren's special brew. Sober, he knew that that had never and wouldn't ever end well but after a few drinks his judgment was notoriously impaired. That was what had persuaded him to strip in front of Aeife and accuse her of being in love with him that last time she had come to take him back to the Tower. It had been incredibly amusing, of course, and the memory of the look on her face still made him smile but it had also caused her to refuse to have anything more to do with him. As her replacement had been Rylock, that ranked up there with some of his less brilliant decisions.

As he wandered the halls looking for someone awake and sober enough to tell him what had happened, he saw telltale signs of magic everywhere he looked. A scorched wall here, a frozen bookcase there…the only two mages at the Keep presently were himself and Velanna and, as he knew for a fact he couldn't make trees grow on the staircase overnight, they both had to have been involved with…whatever.

He finally found Nathaniel staring blankly at his mother's portrait (which was, fortunately, unharmed or Anders wouldn't have even made it through the night in one piece). Typical, he was always staring at that picture despite the fact that he freely admitted that his mother was no looker. Anders' own mother had been quite beautiful and Anders had strongly resembled her. He wondered vaguely what had ever happened to…ugh. That was the problem with hangovers. They caused him to go down paths that he knew were best left alone.

"So you're awake at last," Nathaniel said impassively, not bothering to turn around to face him.

"Please tell me that you have some idea what went on last night," Anders practically pleaded (but still sounding surprisingly manly and suave).

"Oghren mentioned that the Commander could drink him under the table and you insisted that you could do the same thing," Nathaniel explained crisply. "As did Velanna, Sigrun, Garavel...basically everyone that happened to be here at the time."

"Except you," Anders surmised.

Nathaniel finally deigned to turn around and face him. "One of us had to be the responsible one. What if something had happened?"

"It's funny. I see your mouth moving but all I hear is 'I don't know how to have fun'," Anders mused.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Exactly like she'd never left…"


	4. Hair

It was a testament to Anders' professionalism that he waited until the last darkspawn had fallen before reacting.

"What did you do?" he demanded, examining his reflection is horror.

Velanna shot him a look. "I just killed a half a dozen darkspawn."

"You lit my hair on fire!" Anders corrected.

"It is so like a shem to ask me something that they already know the answer to," Velanna said crossly.

"You lit my hair on fire!" Anders reminded her.

"You put it out within a couple of seconds," Velanna pointed out.

"You lit my hair on fire!" Anders said again, so horrified that he couldn't find anything else to say.

"It was an accident," Velanna claimed.

"How do you 'accidentally' light someone's hair on fire?" Anders demanded.

"Easy," Velanna replied wryly. "I was aiming for one of the darkspawn and you moved your head at the last second."

"So you're admitting that you can't control your magic?" Anders asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Velanna insisted. "I just can't control stupid shems who don't have the sense to stay out of the way."

"Maybe you shouldn't be aiming for darkspawn that are right behind me," Anders helpfully suggested.

"That's a wonderful idea," Velanna said with mock-enthusiasm. "You'd have a darkspawn sword in your gut because you didn't notice that it was sneaking up on you but at least you'd die with perfect hair."

Anders opened his mouth to reply and then quickly shut it again as he realized that she was right. That didn't mean he had to be happy about it, however. "But my ponytail is really badly burned."

Velanna wrinkled her nose. "So I can smell."

"What am I supposed to do?" Anders cried out, fingering his burnt hair miserably.

"Well, you could always leave it like that," Velanna answered matter-of-factly. "But I would really recommend cutting it. It looks horrible."

"I've had long hair since the minute I realized that Irving and Greagoir disapproved," Anders reminisced fondly. "And the ladies just loved to run their fingers through it. They said that it was nice to find a man so secure in his masculinity. Not to mention that the ponytail really added to my pirate-esque appearance."

"Your hair will grow back, you know," Velanna said, cruelly unsympathetic to his plight.

"It will take months for my hair to grow back to what it was before you savagely attacked it," Anders informed her. "If not years. And who knows if it will ever look half as good as it did before?"

"You are seriously over-reacting," Velanna declared. "I refuse to feel guilty about saving your life. Although if you'd like me to regret it then, by all means, keep complaining."

"You're so understanding," Anders deadpanned.

"I do try," she shot back. "Maybe you should try to actually cut your hair and see how it looks before flying off the handle?"

"I don't have any scissors with me," Anders told her. "And I'm definitely not using a dagger. I guess I'll just have to wait until…why do you have scissors?"

Velanna, who had just pulled a pair out, shrugged. "It never hurts to be prepared. A life spent with the Dalish taught me that much."

"Well, I do have a mirror or two so I could see the finished product but I can't possibly hold two mirrors up and cut my hair at the same time," Anders reasoned. "So I'll have to wait until I get back to the Keep and can use one of the wall mirrors."

"We're not getting back to the Keep for over a week," Velanna said flatly. "And I am not going to listen to you complaining about your poor hair for the entirety of the trip."

"What do you suggest?" Anders challenged. "Because the only mirrors I've encountered in forests are evil ones and I'm not going to stop complaining until my hair is fixed – and possibly not even then – no matter what you do to me."

"I had expected as much," Velanna told him. "Which is why I'm going to be cutting your hair."

Anders drew back, shocked. "Wait, what? Do you even know how?"

Velanna rolled her eyes. "Of course I know how! What part of 'Dalish' screams 'helpless' to you?"

"No part of it," Anders was quick to assure her. "I just…don't really trust you anywhere near my hair. I mean, you did just light it on fire, after all."

"It was collateral damage," Velanna said firmly. "And as there aren't any darkspawn around such a thing wouldn't occur when I was cutting it. Besides, your hair looks really bad now. I'm not sure it's even humanly possible – let alone elvenly – for anyone to make it worse."

"I suppose that's true," Anders agreed. "But I don't know…"

"Oh, just sit down," Velanna snapped, losing her patience. She pushed Anders towards a rock and, obediently, he sat down.

He knew that he'd be uncomfortable if he couldn't see what she was doing but that he'd probably give himself a panic attack if he could and so he, very reluctantly, put the mirror away. Just because he couldn't imagine how Velanna could possibly make it worse didn't mean that it wasn't possible. He had a great deal of faith in her creativity, after all, and was pretty sure that if she did somehow manage to make it worse than it would be a least partially deliberate. She was getting better with her habitual spitefulness but she hadn't ever approved of how much care he put into his appearance or his habit of complaining about the little things so as to avoid having to mention the big ones.

For fifteen minutes he sat in complete silence save the snipping of Velanna's scissors. "It's done," she finally declared. "Have a look for yourself and see if I really did ruin your hair."

She sounded far too satisfied with herself for Anders' liking and so he was almost afraid to look. Would it really be so bad if he just never glanced at his reflection again? Though even if he did that there was still the chance that other people would comment on his hair, particularly if it were really dreadful. Taking a deep breath, Anders reached a shaky hand into his pocket and pulled out the mirror from earlier along with a second one.

He inspected the front of his hair. It was shorter, obviously, but it actually looked rather – dare he say it – dashing. Encouraged, he held up the second mirror and glanced at the back of his hair. She did nice work.

"Are you done admiring yourself?" Velanna asked, annoyed, after a few minutes.

Anders smirked. "For now, maybe. I make no promises about later. And you know, this might have actually been one of my more brilliant ideas…"


	5. Escape

Anders sometimes wondered why the desire to flee was so strong in him, almost like a physical need at times. He could spend hours just staring out the windows of the Circle Tower until the templars grew concerned (although he wasn't sure if they worried that he'd fall or jump) and over time he'd begun to notice that it wasn't like that for the other apprentices which was weird because they'd been here even longer than he had.

Maybe that was why, though. He had been here for the five longest years of his life and each day brought with it a growing terror that he would never see the outside properly again. Sure, the apprentices were allowed to go outside of the Tower for exercises occasionally and under strict templar supervision but that wasn't true freedom! They were just toying with them by offering up whatever scraps they thought were harmless enough and expecting them to be pathetically grateful. And the apprentices were oh so disgustingly grateful, all but Anders and Finn. Anders, of course, resented the templar's presumption and Finn actually didn't like the outdoors. He had sensitive skin and some pretty severe allergies and so Anders supposed it wasn't all that surprising even if it was still inconceivable.

Anders had a plan as far as those brief glimpses of 'freedom' were concerned. He hadn't dared try anything before he became a fully qualified mage for fear that they would make him tranquil – death he could handle, living death he could not – but his Harrowing was fast approaching and the very first time he went out for exercises as a full mage then he would make a break for it. Sure, Anders had heard that the Harrowing was exceedingly difficult and that many people died in the attempt to pass but, well, he was sure he'd be fine. It might be egotistical of him but he'd always been one of the more talented apprentices.

So Anders was going to escape soon and see how far he could get before the templars had his phylactery recalled and hunted him down. This would inevitably make his life harder but…he couldn't not do it. It was so difficult to explain because he didn't even fully understand his need to be somewhere else – anywhere else – himself. If he didn't do this then he didn't know how much longer he could cling to any sort of sanity. The other mages didn't seem to mind but then many of them had no memories before coming to this glorified prison for the high crime of possessing magic. That just struck him as fundamentally wrong but no one else seemed to care. A lack of knowledge about the outside world might have made being trapped here forever but it also served to make them even more under the Chantry's thrall.

Everywhere Anders looked, there was something to escape from. The people who lived in the Tower were generally pale and sickly-looking. Anders had largely kept his physique due to sheer determination but whenever he glanced in the mirror he was struck with just how faded his own skin had become. He was starting to look like the others and that was simply not something he was prepared to deal with. The bucket-heads weren't supposed to fraternize with the evil mages and rumors of their invasions of privacy and abuses of power were inescapable.

The knight-commander, Greagoir, at least, didn't seem interested in watching the mages bathe but he was notoriously strict and always conspiring with First Enchanter Irving. Irving was another one he needed to be careful of. He always tried so hard to pass himself off as one of them, a champion for the mages who heroically and tirelessly butted heads with the Chantry on their behalf. As. If. He and Greagoir had made a game out of their power struggles and it didn't matter who got hurt as long as they could win. So the people – lifeless, brainwashed, evil, or some combination of the three – was enough to drive him to the lake and that wasn't nearly his only reason.

Anders had been born free and had spent a very pleasant childhood hiding his powers before the templars finally caught on and took him away. Unlike the others, he had had a life and now that was gone and who knew if he'd ever see anyone from before again? He had seen what reality was like and what places were supposed to look like and the Circle Tower was simply not right. It was built in the middle of a lake, for one, which even the templars couldn't pretend wasn't used to keep them locked up even tighter. The building was all grey and drab and the windows were few and far between. Every move he made was watched and judged by overeager zealots just waiting for him to slip up and reveal that he was secretly possessed by a demon or something. He couldn't keep living like this. He didn't know how anyone could go on living like this.

Escape. That was what he had to do, that was the only way. He had to run and to never stop running because the minute he did then they'd catch up to him and realize that he wasn't like them, would never be like them. Once they realized that, that'd stop at nothing to make him one of them or to outright destroy him if he proved too troublesome.

Anders knew that he talked a big game. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was utterly fearless and he wanted so badly for that to be true. He wasn't afraid of the outside or of trying to live among ordinary people like some of the others were but he had heard the stories of what templars did to mages who ran just as often as anybody and so the prospect of bringing their wrath down upon his head was mildly terrifying. Just the same, he feared what would happen if he allowed that fear to control him more.

In one week, he would attempt his first escape. He wondered how many he'd manage before they made his escape from the Tower a little more permanent.


	6. A Change of Scene

Anders had just turned seventeen last week and it meant very little to him besides another year of his life gone forever, wasted in this phallic prison. Even templar-taunting had largely lost its appeal after the first few months. It was truly pathetic but he'd been so completely and utterly bored lately that he was spending his time in the library. Admittedly, he'd been helpfully annotating the texts to make them more interesting, capturing the majesty of the great tiger Ser Pounce-a-lot and his templar-eating ways in the margins, and looking up obscure rituals.

He had usually been able to figure out at least a part of the ritual but the last one in the third book he'd looked through had left him puzzled for a few hours now. While he had never been simultaneously bored and confused, he had to admit that he rather preferred boredom. That was just his secret inner nerd that he'd never admit to having taking, though. Now, Anders was well aware that trying a ritual that he had no idea what it would do and was entitled only 'Hogwarts' was probably a bad idea. He was feeling just desperate and reckless enough to not care.

He had just thrown a pinch of smuggled lyrium sand into the flame to complete the ritual, reasoning that blowing himself up had to be more entertaining than staying here at the Tower. Ever since he'd made his escape attempt – the first of many, he'd promised himself – he'd barely been able to sneeze without the templars focusing their undivided and most certainly unwelcome attention on him. Fortunately for him, the templar on duty in the library at the moment wasn't particularly attentive and had barely even registered Anders' presence, let alone his illicit ritual. The man did start as a great wind began to form around Anders, faster and faster. Watching it was dizzying and his hair and robes were blowing everywhere.

When the wind finally died down, he found himself no longer standing in the library. Instead, he seemed to be in some sort of an office. There were moving portraits on the wall staring unabashedly at him, strange silver devices littering the desk, and a bird that didn't seem to notice that it was on fire sitting on a perch. Anders blinked. Yep, it was still there.

He turned to the two bewildered occupants of the room who had both taken out a wooden stick and pointed it at him. How odd. One of them was the oldest man that Anders had ever seen and had a long white beard that easily put even the dwarven ones he'd seen to shame. He had half-moon spectacles and a strange twinkle in his eyes. The other man was much younger than the first but still several years older than Anders himself. This man had medium-length greasy black hair and suspicious black eyes.

"…Hogwarts?" Anders ventured a guess once it became apparent that they were waiting for him to speak.

"We've got a sharp one," one of the portraits said dryly. Now the portrait was talking? Ander wondered briefly if it had somehow been possessed. As no one else seemed particularly concerned about it, he decided to just ignore it.

"You are indeed at Hogwarts," the elder of the two men confirmed. "I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster, and this is Professor Snape. And who might you be?"

"My name is Anders," Anders introduced himself. "This is probably a stupid question but…what is Hogwarts? Some kind of a school, I take it?"

"Obviously," Snape said derisively. "Why are you here if you didn't know that? And how did you even get here?"

Anders shrugged. "I found a ritual called 'Hogwarts'."

"And you performed it?" Snape demanded, his tone clearly implying that he questioned Anders' intelligence. "Without even knowing what Hogwarts was?"

"I was bored," Anders said, the words sounding lame even to his own ears.

Snape closed his eyes, looking almost pained.

"Perhaps you could give us some more information?" Dumbledore suggested. "You can do magic and yet you've never heard of Hogwarts? Hogwarts is very well-known among the magical community and so I find that to be quite remarkable."

"It isn't in the Thedas magical community," Anders replied. "Or at least not in the Ferelden community."

"Thedas?" Dumbledore asked politely. "Ferelden? I'm afraid I've never heard of those places."

Anders raised his eyebrows, surprised. "You haven't? I…actually don't know what to say to that. Ferelden is a country in the land of Thedas and I don't know anything about the geography outside of Thedas."

"That is a puzzle," Dumbledore said gravely, stroking his beard. "I'm sure that, given time, we shall be able to unravel it. Where did you study magic?"

"The Circle Tower," Anders replied promptly. Realizing that that probably wouldn't be enough information, he continued with, "It's a Tower in the middle of a lake where everyone in Ferelden who has magic is taken the moment someone discovers this fact and where they are not permitted to leave without permission…which is only granted if they're old enough and compliant enough."

Snape looked horrified. "People where you're from lock witches and wizards in a tower?"

"We're called mages," Anders corrected. "And yes, yes they do."

"The Dark Lord's followers would have a field day with this," Snape muttered. "Muggles imprisoning wizards. At least they aren't killing them."

Anders had never heard the term 'muggle' before but he figured that it probably meant a non-mage. "Actually, when you reached adulthood, the templars – they're our guards and can somehow neutralize our magic – put a demon in you and kill you if you can't fight off your possession fast enough. And they kill you if you use the 'wrong' kinds of magic. And if you leave the Tower without permission they'll probably kill you but they didn't kill me that one time I did so it's not exactly a guarantee."

Dumbledore looked alarmed. "They put demons inside of everyone? Why?"

Anders shrugged. "They claim it's so no one who cannot fight off a possession won't get possessed and start killing people without anyone noticing. And unless you want to lose not only your magic but, as a rather nasty side-effect, your emotions as well then you have to undertake this Harrowing."

"Would I be correct in assuming that you have gone through this yourself?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly. "You seem to know an awful lot about it."

Anders nodded. "Yeah, I did. I didn't find it very difficult but then I can only speak for my own experience."

"And you said that you only go through this 'Harrowing' when you become an adult. How old are you, Anders?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I just turned seventeen," Anders announced.

Snape groaned. "Oh, of course."

"What's so special about that?" Anders asked, confused.

"In Wizarding Britain, which is where Hogwarts is located, magical children are often sent to the school for seven years starting at the age of eleven. No one is forced to go and some are homeschooled but Hogwarts is a wonderful place to learn magic and to meet your peers. Hogwarts is in session for a little over nine months, from September to June, and there is a two-week break that children can return home during if they so choose in December and a week-long break that they may not leave school during in April."

"I see," Anders said diplomatically. It would appear that these people used a different calendar system than Thedas did as he was certain that he'd never heard of this 'September' or 'April.' Hogwarts certainly sounded more appealing than life at the Circle but it was difficult not to and he couldn't really muster up much enthusiasm about a school. "And what happens after they're done with their schooling?"

"Then they go out into the world. Children generally can't control their magic when they're younger and learn to use their wands here at-" Dumbledore began to answer.

"What's a wand?" Anders interrupted.

Dumbledore's eyes went wide and he gestured to the stick still in his hand. "Why – a wand is how a wizard focuses their magic and performs spells! Are you saying that you don't have one?"

"I never have," Anders confirmed. "This 'wand' seems kind of like a crutch, to be honest."

"Anyway," Dumbledore said, continuing valiantly. "At the age of seventeen, a wizard becomes a legal adult and is free to do magic whenever and wherever they want instead of just here at Hogwarts. Be warned, though, that they are still not permitted to perform magic in front of those muggles that don't know we exist…which are usually the immediate family of muggle-born wizards and those high up in the government."

"I'm sure you'll find the concept of muggles not knowing about magic to be very strange but given the barbarity they display where you're from, you might actually be the rare teenager to fully understand the need for this secrecy," Snape told him, miraculously looking slightly less unimpressed than he had previously.

Anders stood frozen in shock and elation. Finally, he snapped out of it and a wide grin spread across his face. "Best. Ritual. Ever. Oh, I am never going back. And does anyone know where I can get a burning bird like that?"


	7. Human for a Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: As per ancient fable, say what would happened if Ser Pounce-A-Lot turned into human for Just one day and how it affect our beloved Ser Mage.

Dalish mages could be rather terrified, Anders decided. He really should have realized that earlier but in his defense Velanna had never been quite so angry at him before. Who would have thought that turning her hair lime green would be enough to set her off so badly? He was willing to admit that he almost had a heart attack when he saw the magic sparkling from her fingers but she didn't go after him. No, instead she zapped poor Ser Pounce-a-lot and then flounced away, leaving Anders to watch anxiously to see what she'd done to his beloved cat.

Poor Pounce just mewled and twisted for a few minutes before there was a flash of light and when Anders could see again, his cat was gone. In its place was an unfamiliar human. Despite Pounce being a male, this creature was most decidedly female. She was a leggy redhead with joy and innocence sparkling in her bright emerald eyes and a small upturned nose. She was also naked.

Now, normally this kind of situation would be a dream come true for Anders but…this was his cat. His very male cat. It felt wrong to so much as look at her. He quickly grabbed a blanket that someone had left lying in a corner of the room and threw it at her. "Put this on!" he ordered.

Pounce merely stared quizzically at it for a second. Maybe she would have eventually figured out what to do with it but having her standing there so completely exposed and where anyone could walk in on them at any second was really making Anders uncomfortably so he gently took the blanket from her and draped it around her. It wasn't much but at least he could no longer see the parts that, as a male, she wasn't even supposed to have! Still, he should really get something for her to wear that wouldn't fall down and expose her if she let go of the ends of it or moved too quickly. But what? Sigrun's clothing would be too short for her, Velanna's clothing couldn't really be called that fairly, and Angélique always seemed to know whenever anyone had been in her room and so he couldn't very well sneak something out of there. Besides, her outfits were always very…distinctive.

Nathaniel chose that moment to walk into the room. He took one look at the situation in front of him and then turned right around and began to walk back out.

"Hey!" Anders called out. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere where I do not have to watch you and your latest conquest going at it in the library," Nathaniel responded curtly. "And since we're on the subject, I would like to remind you that you have a perfectly good room of your own to use for things like this and so I would appreciate it if you could avoid tainting the rest of the Keep as such."

"We were not tainting the Keep!" Anders exclaimed indignantly.

Nathaniel waved his hand. "Tainting the Keep, having sex with strangers in every room, call it what you want."

"But…but we weren't even doing that!" Anders protested.

Nathaniel favored him with a skeptical look. "Really. So you're standing right next to a beautiful woman who is wearing nothing but a blanket – which I dearly hope you wash when you're done with – for some completely innocuous reason, I take it."

Despite the clear sarcasm, Anders nodded vigorously. "Yes! She didn't have anything to wear and so I just grabbed the first thing I could see. You're lucky you didn't come in here two minutes earlier."

Nathaniel didn't look any more convinced. "Alright, I'll bite. Why would she be in the library without any clothes if she wasn't having sex with, if not you, then somebody?"

"Because Velanna got pissed at me and turned Ser Pounce-a-lot into a human," Anders said, helpfully gesturing towards the girl just in case Nathaniel didn't make the obvious connection.

Nathaniel's eyebrow rose. "Last time I checked, your cat was a male, Anders."

"She was really pissed," Anders said by way of explanation. "And so it was weird to just be looking at her and so I had to cover her up somehow but I have no idea how long the spell will last or how to change it back! And if I go anywhere near Velanna then she'll kill me!"

"You could just tell her how to change her hair back," Nathaniel pointed out. "I only didn't get here in time to see this girl naked because she stopped me to ask if I knew anything about how to get her back to normal."

"And I take it you didn't," Anders guessed. "So does this mean you'll help me?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "Anders, I don't even believe you and if I did then I'm fairly certain that I don't want to get involved with this. It's…odd. And Angélique is getting back from Antiva today so I need to enjoy whatever semblances of normality I can before then." With that, he turned once again to leave.

"Coward!" Anders called after him but without much bite in his words. They were all on edge since she was finally returning from her epic journey to get her sword back from the Crows. There had been all sorts of rumors about her and her friend Zevran conquering Antiva and leaving Zevran in charge of the Crows but no one really knew what was true and what wasn't. Anders had technically been left in charge while she was away but, like when Angélique was actually here, Nathaniel had ended up doing most of the work. Anders would feel bad but, really, it was the Howe's own damn fault for caring more.

Sighing, Anders turned his attention back to Pounce. He really hoped that he could get her back to normal before she got back or else she was bound to make everything far more complicated than it needed to be. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured.

Pounce, sensing her master's distress, walked over to him and began to rub against him. Now, this was perfectly fine and even appreciated when she was a cat. When she was a voluptuous young woman covered only by a thin blanket and Anders couldn't stop thinking of his male cat, it was a great deal more awkward. With a yelp, he leapt back and ended up falling over.

"What was that?" Angélique asked, her attention attracted by the noise. When had she gotten back? Her eyes fell upon Pounce who had lost her hold on the blanket. Angélique's eyes lit up. "Oh, Andraste! A welcome home present! You're so thoughtful, Anders! All Velanna did was turn her hair green and I haven't been able to find Nate."

It was times like these that Anders was grateful that he had made Oghren's acquaintance as the dwarf had a far more colorful vocabulary than he did. "Caridin's teeth!"


	8. Namaya

Namaya had always been good at finding things. She didn't know why other people had such difficulty tracking people down or locating object but her hard work, determination, and occasional pure dumb luck usually meant that if she set her heart on finding something, it would turn up sooner or later.

That was how she had gotten out of the Alienage. That was how she'd ended up owning her own tavern. That was how she'd first met Anders, that chronic apostate who just never knew when to quit. Life…life had been good. Business was booming and whenever Anders had shown up, he had made her laugh…among other things. Then the Blight had come. Then the tavern had been tainted and burned beyond any hope of salvaging it. Then she had had too many people who she owed money to and who owed money to her but couldn't pay so she had little hope of ever rebuilding her tavern. She hadn't known what to do and so she'd started tracking down things and people for anyone who could pay. In the post-Blight world where families had been separated and possessions stolen, it was a decent living.

That was when Anders had shown up again. He had kissed her on the cheek and shoved a diamond into her hands.

"Anders, what-?" she had started to say.

"You probably don't want to know," Anders cut her off. He was always saying that but since he was an escaped mage and thus his very presence in the world outside of the Circle Tower was illegal, he was probably right to try and keep her in the dark. If a Templar ever saw them together, she fully planned to disavow any knowledge of Anders' magic.

"Can you at least tell me why you're giving me this?" Namaya requested. "Because if you want me to hide this from the authorities or an irate nobleman then-"

"No, nothing like that," Anders was quick to assure her. "That's your payment."

"My payment?" Namaya repeated blankly. Fire quickly flooded her veins. "I am not a whore!"

"Wait, what?" Anders asked, looking stricken. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"Oh really," Namaya said, venom dripping from every word.

"Really!" Anders insisted. "I need something found and I've heard that you've gotten quite a reputation lately."

If Namaya's ears were burning at the conclusion she'd jumped to, she refused to acknowledge it. "Oh. Well, a diamond is quite a bit more than I usually charge."

"I kind of figured that," Anders said with a nod. "But this isn't your average case."

"As you are hardly my average client, I wasn't expecting it to be," Namaya retorted. "I'm a little concerned about what someone like you could possibly want me to find that you think is worth a finder's fee of an entire diamond…and not even a little one."

"Are you sure you want to cut right to the chase?" Anders asked, a little disappointed.

"If you wanted to make small talk first – or whatever – then you really should have thought about that before peaking my curiosity," Namaya said flatly. "What are you after?"

Anders looked around nervously. Nobody seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to him but he'd spent enough time being hunted that he was always paranoid that he was being watched. "Not here," he said shortly before grabbing her arm and practically dragging her to a more secluded alleyway.

"Are you satisfied that we're not being watched?" Namaya asked, a little annoyed, as she rubbed the spot on her arm that he had been holding.

"Reasonably," Anders said reluctantly. "Listen, Namaya, I know that this is dangerous and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important and that's why I gave you such a huge payment. The timing for this is perfect and if it doesn't happen now then I don't think I'm ever going to get a better opportunity so-"

"Anders, just what do you want me to find?" Namaya interrupted, his words making her feel ill at ease.

Anders took a deep breath before replying. "My phylactery."

Namaya drew back. "Your phylactery?"

Anders nodded. "Indeed. Now, normally it is housed somewhere in Denerim with all the others and probably guarded ridiculously well. Since Denerim had had to be evacuated right before the darkspawn hoard came to destroy the city, my phylactery won't be there anymore and wherever it's being temporarily housed cannot possibly be as secure. Additionally, I've recently learned that my blood that they keep on hand at the Tower given how often I escape was destroyed when Uldred and his followers took over the Tower briefly a few months back."

"So you want me to mess with the templars," Namaya said, really not liking the sound of it.

"No, not at all," Anders hastened to reassure her. "Just find out where it is and maybe a few details about obvious defenses and then I can take care of the rest…somehow. I don't expect you to steal if for me, just let me know where it is. They won't even have to know about you or your connection to me at all."

Namaya really didn't like the sound of this. It wasn't like she had any particular fear or hatred of mages nor was she a pious woman but the Chantry wasn't an organization that could be trifled with so easily. This had the potential to end very, very badly. Still…a whole diamond? She could really use the money and Anders was right. If she was careful, they need not even know that she was poking around.

"Please, Namaya," Anders said, an almost pleading note in his voice. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

And so she'd agreed. Of course she'd agreed. In the end, she'd never been able to say no to him when he looked at her like that. And when he'd left a few hours later, promising to meet up with her in three weeks at the same spot, she'd gotten right to work. It wasn't easy to find anything as the Chantry guarded its secrets jealously but eventually she'd followed up a promising lead and gotten the information that she was looking for.

Now she was waiting at the agreed meeting place for Anders but though it had already been an hour past when he was supposed to show up, there was no sign of him.

"Excuse me…Namaya, was it?" an unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind her.

Namaya spun around to see a woman in traditional templar attire standing there with three other templars with their helmets covering their faces. "May I help you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. This could not be good news. She knew she should have just turned Anders down.

The female templar smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "You know what, I think you can."


	9. Art of Lying

Anders had just put one foot over the window's edge and was about to move the other over as well when he heard a sudden voice behind him.

"Anders, you aren't trying to escape again, are you?"

Anders closed his eyes and cursed silently. He had checked the movements on this floor twice before making his bid for freedom. How had he missed this?

"Anders?" the voice said again.

Sighing deeply as if this act physically pained him, Anders drew his escaped leg back into the Tower and turned to face the templar. It was Cullen, at least. Cullen firmly believed in the Chantry's teachings and felt that it was best for everyone if mages were imprisoned here at Kinloch Hold but he wasn't that bad for a templar. He was in love with Irving's most talented apprentice, some girl named Amell, but he wouldn't admit it even though it was really an open secret at this point and he seemed unlikely to ever act on it. Cullen was also far too easy to embarrass and disliked mage-killing. To top it off, he felt that mages should have more privacy and greater freedom within this prison. As he was a templar who wasn't a gorgeous girl, Anders hated him on principle but he could really be a lot worse. Anders didn't even want to know what would have happened if Rylock had found him. He hadn't ever had much to do with her but the way she looked at the mages sometimes…she was clearly disturbed and he didn't want to be anywhere near her when she inevitably snapped someday.

Anders forced a jovial s mile. "Me? Escape? Perish the thought."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears," Cullen murmured. "And if you weren't trying to escape then what were you doing?"

Anders paused for a moment as he frantically tried to think of a non-escape reason he could be doing this. The reason didn't even need to be particularly good given that he already had a reputation around the Tower for being odd but it did need to be quick or it would be obvious that he was just making it up on the spot. Fortunately, he had plenty of experience with doing just that. "I was trying to get some fresh air before you so thoughtlessly interrupted me," Anders sniffed.

Cullen crossed his arms skeptically. "Right."

"I was," Anders insisted. "The air in the Tower is always so very stuffy, what with the way the door is always barred and the too-few windows are often shut. You'd think a man could stick his head out the window to try and breathe properly without someone suspecting an escape attempt."

"To begin with, it wasn't just your head," Cullen pointed out. "You were halfway out the window. And while I'll admit that my fellow templars would be uncomfortable with just a mage's head sticking out of the window, with you it would be an even bigger concern."

"Oh, so now I can't even do things that the other mages do?" Anders complained. "That is so not fair. In fact, I'm thinking about complaining about it."

Cullen shrugged. "If you must. Of course, chances are that if you would stop attempting to escape everyone would be a lot less suspicious of everything you do. Just a thought."

Anders ignored that. "I was not 'halfway out the window.' It was just one of my legs. I daresay that a good three-quarters of me was still inside of the Tower."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Now you're just arguing semantics."

"Hey, semantics can be pretty important!" Anders insisted. "Like if it had just been my head sticking out the window and you reported that then I would be faced with a lot less Greagoir-anger than if you had claimed that I was halfway out the window."

Cullen looked like he was debating whether to point out that it hadn't just been his head before shaking his head slightly. "How, exactly, does sticking your leg out the window help you to get some fresh air? Do you breathe through your legs now?"

Another good question. Damn. "I was going to sit on the windowsill so that I could more fully access the fresh air," Anders replied, reluctantly conceding the point that he was going through the window when Cullen had happened upon him.

"Mages aren't allowed to do that," Cullen reminded him. "And even if they were you can bet that you wouldn't be allowed to…and before you start complaining about that, remember that you're the one who won't just stay put."

"What, do they really think I'm going to try to jump from such a high floor of the Tower?" Anders asked, managing to sound reasonably incredulous given that he had been planning just that and was fairly certain that he had a plan to not only survive the fall but to sustain only minimal injuries so he could continue to make his escape. It wouldn't do him any good if he had lived through the fall but broken both of his legs and couldn't make it any further, after all. "I'm pretty certain that that would kill me, Cullen."

"And that is precisely why you're not allowed to sit on the ledges of the windowsills," Cullen said smugly. "Either you're close enough to the ground to potentially try to escape or you're high enough that a fall would likely kill you and we wouldn't want anyone to lose their balances and meet such an ignoble and easily avoidable end, now would we?"

Anders snorted. "Most of the templars would. What kind of templar are you, anyway?"

"The kind that noticed your most recent escape attem-sorry, 'attempt to get some air'," Cullen shot back.

"So…now what?" Anders asked, realizing that he wasn't going to be getting out of the Tower today as Cullen could render him helpless if he even looked like he was thinking about trying something.

Cullen sighed. "Oh, I don't care. Just…stay away from the window, all right?"

"Mages' honor," Anders said solemnly.

Cullen seemed to accept that and waved Anders along.

Sucker.


	10. Claustrophobia

When Anders had first learned that his punishment for his most recent escape was a year in solitary confinement, he had felt that it was completely worth it. After all, he had managed to steal back a month of his life from the templars and while a year in solitary meant that he wouldn't be able to escape again until it was over, being confined alone couldn't be much worse than regular life at the Tower.

That feeling had lasted for all of a week.

The room had seemed a bit small at first but not really a big deal. 'At first' being the operative word. Eventually, he had found Mr. Wiggums the cat who occasionally visited and helped keep him sane. Mr. Wiggums couldn't be there all the time, however, and there were still far too many hours spent staring blankly at the walls. Those all too stifling and suffocating walls. There were times when he almost thought that the walls were closing in on him which was worrying for two reasons. One, that wasn't a particularly sane thing to think, he was pretty sure. And two, this being a prison for mages meant that for all he knew it really was.

The end of the year in solitary couldn't have come soon enough. Anders was rather embarrassed by the state he'd been in when Greagoir had finally let him out. Some of the templars hadn't been able to contain their smirks at the sight of him. See how they'd look at the end of an entire sodding year in a cramped room with no one to talk to but a cat and no way to figure out how much time had passed save the meals that had been slid into his cell.

So it was a bad experience – a horrible experience – but at least it was over and he could move on with his life and lay low until the time came for his next escape attempt. Or so he thought. He hadn't expected the nightmares about being trapped back in that tiny room (permanently this time) but since those only occurred at night, he thought that he would be fine.

He would have sincerely appreciated it if he could have realized that was wrong before he'd slipped into a closet with not one but TWO beautiful redheads. Unfortunately, despite how very…excited he had been going into the closet, once he was actually inside his excitement had immediately turned into mindless terror. His heart had started racing uncontrollably and he felt lightheaded. It was like he couldn't breathe and instead of a small closet with his two delightful female companions, he was suddenly back in that room, that terribly empty room.

The girls had not been impressed with his performance – or lack there of – to say the least but, despite the fact that they complained to all their friends and his reputation took a hit, Anders really did have bigger problems. He was out of that room, yes, and intellectually he knew that it was over but it was becoming more and more clear to him that the room wasn't done with him yet, not by a long shot. It seemed that every time he was in an enclosed space he began to panic. Did he mention that the entire Tower was one big enclosed space? Fortunately, it was easier to control when he was in a larger enclosed space than a smaller one. Still, this irrational fear of his was the driving force behind Anders' sixth escape.

When he was caught, Anders found – to his great surprise – that Greagoir had decided not to put him back in solitary. Anders had been terrified that another escape would mean another year, at least, back in that room but he couldn't not escape. It just wasn't who he was. Fortunately, Greagoir seemed to have decided that either the room was too cruel even for a mage or else not as effective as it should have been and so he was spared from having to go through an ordeal like that again. Greagoir's decision was a makersend as Anders honestly didn't know if his sanity could have withstood that again and certainly not so soon after the last time.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Anders that he had a problem and so he did the only sensible thing he could and went to the library to do some research. It would have been easier and taken far less time had he simply asked someone about his symptoms but everyone knew about what he had been through and so if he did ask then whoever he asked would instantly make the connection that he wasn't just asking out of idle curiosity. Once one person knew, who knew how many would find out? That might not have been a big deal to some people but Anders hated the thought of his fellow mages who were content to just waste away in this prison or the bucket-headed bastards that guarded them seeing him vulnerable.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. Claustrophobia. The fear of having no escape and being closed in. It was almost a relief to find this information, to realize that he wasn't alone in this. He soon absorbed everything the library had to offer about the subject because he figured that the more he knew, the better prepared he was to deal with it.

One day, he'd be free of the Tower for good and never have to worry about being trapped. Until then, there was no reason to let anybody in on this little weakness of his.


	11. Jealousy

Sigrun froze suddenly causing Anders to bump into her and nearly knock her over.

"Sorry about that," he said easily. "Why'd you stop?"

Sigrun didn't say anything but slowly raised one shaking hand towards a particular bush near the Keep.

Anders rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this again!"

"What?" Sigrun asked innocently. "It's not my fault if there's an evil bush over there."

"No," Anders allowed, "but you're the one has to keep walking past it."

"I will not allow a plant, no matter how evil, to deter me from going anywhere on the grounds of my own home that I want to," Sigrun said stubbornly.

"You could always ask the groundskeeper to get rid of it for you," Anders suggested.

Sigrun sighed. "I tried that. Nathaniel walked by while I was talking to him and because they used to know each other from way back when, Nathaniel dragged me away and forbid me from bothering the guy about evil plants."

"And you listened because…?" Anders prompted.

Sigrun looked at him as if he were stupid. "Because he is the second-in-command to Angélique Amell and therefore the one really running things."

Anders realized that she had a point. Not that he would have had much experience with it in the Tower, but he supposed that not having the person in charge upset with you was bound to make life easier. "What I don't get is why you seem to think that bush is evil, anyway."

"I don't think it's evil," Sigrun replied matter-of-factly.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "That's news to me."

"I know that it's evil," Sigrun clarified.

"How?" Anders challenged.

The dwarf looked like she was seriously considering make a bad pun but evidently decided against it. "I don't know quite how to explain it. It just has this…this aura of evilness!"

" 'Aura of evilness', huh?" Anders repeated skeptically. "Right."

Sigrun sighed again. "You're so lucky, you know."

Well that was new. Anders had occasionally been told that he was lucky given his success with women but he hadn't been aware that Sigrun was even interested in her own gender. "I am?" he asked carefully, making sure not to say too much in case he was reading this wrong.

"You are," Sigrun confirmed. "You have the power to destroy that evil bush in so many ways! You could burn it or freeze it or strike it with lightning or send out your purple energy thing or crush it or a dozen other different ways. I'm so jealous."

"Wait, wait, wait," Anders said, holding up his hand to quiet her as he tried to process this. Surely he hadn't just heard what he thought he had heard. "You're jealous of me?"

"Right," Sigrun said with a nod.

"Because I am a mage?"

Another nod. "Right."

"Because I can kill a plant?" Anders couldn't believe it.

"That is what I just said, yes," Sigrun agreed.

"…Why?" Anders demanded.

Now it was Sigrun's turn to be incredulous. "You know, you just told me why so I'm finding it difficult to believe that you don't remember."

"No, I do," Anders assured her. "I just don't see how you think that being a mage would be worth it because it would enable you to kill a plant that you are perfectly capable of killing already."

"Yes, but then I would have to touch it and its evilness might rub off on me," Sigrun said matter-of-factly. "It would be so much simpler if I could just shoot a fireball at it from twenty feet away like you can but won't for some mysterious reason."

"There's nothing mysterious about it," Anders argued. "I just don't see the point. Besides, even if it were an evil bush, I still can't see why you would actually want to be a mage."

"Yes, it is so very bizarre that someone would find the nearly unlimited power at your fingertips to be appealing," Sigrun deadpanned.

"You know, that's almost as appealing as being torn kicking and screaming from your parents once the templars catch wind of your having magic…and that's only IF your parents aren't the overly religious types who really think that their child is evil and stop loving them the minute they change the color of their hair or freeze some water," Anders exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"That sounds rough," Sigrun agreed. "Sort of like how where I come from, many little girls are raised to be whores to try and improve their potentially bitter, drunken mother's life…and that's only IF your mother didn't decide to sell you off or abandon you in the Deep Roads."

Sigrun was so insanely cheerful sometimes that Anders almost forgot her freakishly depressing backstory. But still… "And then once that's done, getting to spend your entire life trapped in a tower in the middle of a lake unless you're either especially good at licking the templars' boots or particularly bad at staying put is just such a delight. I used to thank the Maker every day for being a mage."

"I know I would," Sigrun told him dreamily. "Well…if I believed in the Maker, I would. I would definitely thank someone, though. Not the Ancestors since I don't have those. I will have to think on this but rest assured that someone will be thanked!"

"You wouldn't mind being trapped in the Circle Tower forever?" Anders asked, stunned. Given all of her energy, Sigrun had never really struck him as the type not to mind being cooped up somewhere for long periods of time.

"No, I would probably hate it," Sigrun admitted. "But at least you wouldn't be told you were worthless-"

"Even if you were told that you were evil," Anders muttered.

Sigrun ignored the interruption. "And you wouldn't have to struggle every day and do all sorts of horrible things just to stay alive. Besides, if I ended up in the same place I am now then I would have escaped the Circle, become a Warden, and been able to destroy that evil bush!"

Anders groaned. She was never going to let that go, was she? Almost lazily, he flung out his arm and watched the fireball speed towards the supposedly evil bush and engulf it in flames, Sigrun cackling evilly beside him.


	12. Grey Warden

The king looked over at Anders with an overly-eager expression. "So, what can you tell me about being a Grey Warden? You must have some great stories and invaluable insight into the nature of the darkspawn."

Anders fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn't quite sure about the details but after he'd been dragged back to the Circle Tower after his sixth escape attempt, he had found Duncan, Irving, and Greagoir waiting for him. Duncan had introduced himself and Irving had practically thrown Anders at the Grey Warden. Greagoir hadn't looked pleased at what was happening but Irving said something about how he would be somebody else's problem now and Greagoir seemed to accept that. So within twenty minutes of stepping off the boat, Anders was back on it and heading for Ostagar to become a Grey Warden and fight darkspawn.

It wasn't what he had expected, but at least he hadn't had to go back to the Tower and now never would have to again. Unfortunately, shortly after his Joining he and Alistair had walked by Cailan and Teyrn Loghain's strategy session. Cailan had immediately lost interest in the planning – not that he appeared to have had much to begin with – and started pestering the pair with all sorts of questions. Loghain had frowned at Alistair and quickly dragged him away, leaving Anders to deal with Cailan's bizarre fascination with the Grey Wardens.

"You realize that I've been a Warden for about three hours now, right?" Anders asked him.

Cailan nodded. "I had heard something like that from Duncan when I walked by him setting up a funeral pyre for the bodies of those other two recruits."

That gave Anders pause. He had been under the impression that the Joining was a secret. That had been part of Duncan's justification for killing what's-his-name, after all. "Wait…you know that the other two died?"

Cailan looked mildly affronted. "Of course I do! Even if I hadn't seen Duncan getting rid of them, I surely would have noticed when one the three Warden recruits became just one Warden."

"And you don't think that that is at all unusual?" Anders pressed.

Cailan shook his head. "Not particularly. I know that the Joining has a high mortality rate."

Anders choked. "You…You know about that as well?"

Cailan laughed. "Oh, who doesn't? My father – King Maric the savior, you know – once went on a glorious adventure with the Grey Wardens back when he first allowed them back into the country twenty years ago and it's always been a very popular tale."

"So…your father learned all sorts of Grey Warden secrets when he went on some mysterious adventure with them and now he goes around telling everyone?" Anders couldn't believe it. What's-his-name had died to protect a secret that had already been told? It was a good thing that Anders had never liked what's-his-name and his typical fear of mages or else he might actually be upset by this turn of events.

"Well, he did," Cailan corrected, looking sad for a moment. "He's dead now, of course."

"But…why?" Anders asked, dumbfounded.

Cailan shrugged. "Why not? It's a very thrilling story, you know, and Loghain likes it because it reminds everybody of how evil the Orlesians can be and also how badass he is – though he won't admit to that last part. I like it because of that hot elven mage in it. Other people like it because the talking darkspawn was really interesting or because it showed just how far my father would go to protect his people."

Anders still couldn't quite wrap his mind around this. "And the Grey Wardens don't care that your father tells everyone their most deeply-held secrets to amuse them?"

"Well, if they do care then it's not like they ever did anything to try and deter him from doing so so I'm sure they don't mind that much," Cailan reasoned. "But enough about that. Tell me about your thrilling adventures! I heard you went into the Korcari Wilds earlier."

"That was before I became a Warden, though," Anders pointed out.

"Close enough," Cailan said dismissively. "You were a Warden recruit, after all."

"Well…we went into the Wilds," Anders began. "We killed a bunch of darkspawn and some wolves. We looked for some ancient treaties but they were gone. This really hot mage told us that her distinctly less hot mage mother had them and they gave it back to us and then the hot mage accompanied us out of the Wilds."

"Treaties?" Cailan perked up. "Oh, this sounds good. What kind of treaties?"

Anders shrugged. "I wasn't really listening. Something about how after the last Blight the mages, Dalish, and dwarves agreed to help out in case a new Blight came and so they signed treaties to that effect. Duncan thinks that over the past four centuries, their goodwill may have died down just a little and so we may need to actually use the treaties should the need for non-Ferelden allies arise. Of course, I'm not sure that the Chantry would even allow the mages to help with the treaty, let alone without it…"

Cailan's eyes were shining. "Oh, you just leave the Chantry to me. The Grey Wardens will get their mage allies, I promise you that! Just think…I'll get to go into battle with not only the Grey Wardens and have an epic war like in the tales but I'll get to have the dwarves, Dalish, and mages by my side as well! Maker, it will be like the fourth Blight all over again!"

"And…that's a good thing?" Anders asked uncertainly. From what he had remembered from the history lessons he never paid attention to, the fourth Blight was kind of awful and nobody should want to go through something like that.

Cailan wasn't listening, though. "Oh, I've got to find Loghain and tell him all about these treaties! He should be as glad to hear of it as I am since it would mean we wouldn't need to rely so much on the Orlesians…"


	13. Grey Warden 2

Anders had been at the Circle Tower for all of a week and already he knew that he had to get out of there. His mother had been right about it. It wasn't like he hadn't believed her, exactly, but he had difficulty imagining that it would be quite this bad. Some of the mages here had no memories of a life outside and kept asking him to tell them stories (which he did, gladly, as he loved the attention) and about such basic things like what the sun was like. How was he supposed to explain something like that? Everyone in the Tower was so very pale and lifeless and he couldn't stand the thought of that happening to him. Plus, everyone said that the templars wanted to kill all the mages and could stop their magic from working and even though Anders wasn't quite sure if that were true, the giant templars in their stupid bucket-helmets and their refusal to speak more than necessary were just a little bit…concerning. Not scary at all.

"Ander?" a late middle-aged woman called out to him. She was one of the senior enchanters he'd seen around sometimes. Gwynn or something like that.

"That's Anders with an 's'," Anders corrected sullenly. Hopefully she wasn't about to start giving him a lecture about how she 'understood' him and the 'troubles he was having to adjust' like Irving kept doing. Honestly, if he didn't want to talk the first time Irving offered, why would he want to the fifth? Or however many times Irving asked him?

"My apologies," Gwynn told him with a slightly sheepish smile. "I've never been the best with names. My name is Wynne."

Gwynn, Wynne, close enough. Still, at least he knew this now before he called her the wrong name and proved that he wasn't any better at it than she was. "Did you want something?" Well, that had come out a little ruder than he'd wanted but oh well. It wasn't like he wanted to talk anyway.

Wynne shook her head tolerantly. "Not particularly, I just wanted to know if you wanted to talk."

Anders scowled. "I already told Irving that-"

To his surprise, she cut him off. "I know. Irving's quite concerned, you know, but we don't have to talk about the Circle."

Anders tilted his head. "What else could we possibly have to talk about? You've been here since you were younger than me, right?"

"I have," Wynne confirmed. "But I've been a Harrowed mage for a very long time now and sometimes that means that I can leave the Tower."

Anders eyes widened. This sounded promising. "Leave the Tower?" he asked, hoping that he sounded casual.

The way Wynne grinned at him made him think that he hadn't been successful. "Oh, yes. There is often a need for a trustworthy mage to perform some service outside of the Tower. It will only happen if you study hard and pass your Harrowing and if you don't give the templars a hard time. Leaving the Tower is a privilege and not a right."

Anders scowled again, suddenly feeling that that wasn't so much of a makersend after all. "It should be."

Wynne ignored that. "How about if I tell you a story?"

"What kind of story?" Anders asked her suspiciously. "Is it one about the kind of adventures I'll get to have if I'm a good little mage and don't bother the templars?"

"No," Wynne started to say. She stopped. "Well…maybe. You never know. Have you ever heard of an order called the Grey Wardens?"

Anders thought back. It did sound vaguely familiar. "Did it have griffons?"

Wynne laughed. "Griffons! Alas, that seems to be the only thing people remember from the tales – the mighty flying mounts that bore the Grey Wardens into battle."

"That's probably because they're the most interesting part," Anders informed her. Despite having no idea what else the Grey Wardens did (which was probably something unless they were an order of griffon breeders which would actually be kind of cool), he knew that there was really no way that they could possibly do anything cooler than have griffons. "I wish I had a griffon." It was probably best not to mention that he wanted one to fly away from the Tower from on.

"That certainly would be something, wouldn't it?" Wynne asked rhetorically. "Unfortunately, it's quite impossible as the griffons died out after the last Blight."

"Why?" Anders asked, indignant. One would think the Grey Wardens would take better care of their most awesome feature.

Wynne shrugged. "The Grey Wardens suffered heavy losses at the end of the last Blight. Perhaps too many griffons died and there weren't enough to sustain their population and to keep breeding with. It was said that watching the Wardens ride in on their white griffons was enough to rouse a weary heart, and put the dance back in the step of an old man. The Grey Wardens were powerful and feared back then but they also were respected and inspired the common people."

"Why be feared or loved if you could be both, huh?" Anders mused.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Wynne agreed. "And it brings me to a story I heard once many years ago-"

"Does the story have griffons in it?" Anders asked eagerly.

Wynne threw up her hands. "Maker's breath, it's like talking to a child!"

Anders crossed his arms and glared at her. "Well, it's not like I know what else they do!"

"They fight darkspawn," Wynne explained. "They are the only ones who can end a Blight. Didn't you make the connection when I said that the griffons suffered heavy losses in the last Blight?"

Anders shrugged. "I didn't want to presume. Besides, the Blight kills everything so how would I know?"

Wynne rolled her eyes. "Yes, there are griffons in the story. Now be quiet and listen. 'The Blight had ravaged the land for months, and the armies of the great kings had amassed for one last stand. As the sun burst through the clouds that boiled and churned in the dark sky above, it illuminated a vast seething horde of darkspawn, with the Archdemon at its head. And it was then – when courage seemed to fail, and all lost to death and despair – that the Grey Wardens came. They arrived with the beating of wings like mighty war drums, and stood before the armies of men.'"

"The Grey Wardens had wings?" Anders asked, confused. "No, wait…that would be the griffons, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it was the griffons," Wynne said tolerantly. "Now shush. 'The Grey Wardens, grim and fearless, marched forth, ever between the men and the encroaching darkspawn. They formed a shield of their own bodies and held that line until the Archdemon was dead and the last darkspawn lay trampled in the dirt. And then, demanding neither reward nor recognition for their sacrifice, the Grey Wardens departed. When the clouds finally rolled back and the sun shone full upon the blighted ground, the great kings knew that they had lost no men, and none of their blood had been spilled.'"

Anders just stared at her for a moment. "That…is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Why wouldn't they get around to the other side of the darkspawn? And why would they become a human shield if they're more valuable fighters? And wouldn't they be more effective if they'd let the armies fight? Why else would the armies even be there? And why couldn't they have shown up earlier? And maybe if they had demanded some recognition they wouldn't be forgotten today. And why wouldn't they want anything for ending a sodding Blight? And are we really supposed to believe that nobody died at all? What, are the Wardens super-human now? And what happened to the griffons? You weren't even going to mention them if I hadn't brought them up, were you? And-"

"That wasn't about any specific battle!" Wynne interrupted, exasperated. "It's an allegory."

"A what?" Anders repeated blankly.

"An allegory, a figurative mode of representation conveying meaning other than the literal," Wynne explained.

"…Right."

"It communicates its message by means of symbolic figures, actions or symbolic representation," Wynne clarified.

"I see," Anders said, only slightly less confused. "And that's supposed to explain its stupidity?"

"It's not stupid," Wynne snapped. "It represents how the Grey Wardens have always defended us from darkspawn and taken losses so that we would not have to. People may have forgotten, but nothing has changed and I just know that if and when the darkspawn return, the Grey Wardens will be ready for them!"

"Yeah, that's great," Anders told her. "But, no offense, I really don't think I would ever want to be a Grey Warden."

Wynne snorted. "None taken. And, no offense, I really don't think I would ever want you to be a Grey Warden either."


	14. Anders in Origins

Knight-Commander Greagoir broke off his explanation about the situation with the mages when his ees fell upon of the members of the Warden's group. "Anders?"

Anders blinked. " 'Oo eez zhis 'Anderz' zhat 'oo speak of?"

Greagoir rolled his eyes. "That is, by far, the fakest accent I've ever heard and I regularly have to hear Carroll's attempts to sound Antivan."

Anders, who had had to deal with Carroll when he first got the idea to develop an accent way back when the templar had been guarding him in solitary confinement, thought that that was rather unfair. He may not have the most convincing accent but he wasn't at Carroll's level. He cocked an eyebrow at Greagoir skeptically.

"And that's the fakest-looking mustache I have ever seen," Greagoir continued. "It's not even the right color and one side is falling off."

Automatically, Anders hands flew up to check the status of his mustache. What did you know, it really had been falling off. Of course, since he had checked to see if it was then Greagoir would have been tipped off regardless. Reluctantly, he removed the fraudulent facial hair.

"You were reported dead at Ostagar," Greagoir said accusingly.

"Was I?" Anders asked innocently. "I certainly did nothing of the sort."

""There was a hysterical elven woman who waxed poetic about your tragic final moments for over three hours," Greagoir said reprovingly. Ah, good old Namaya. She never let him down.

"How strange," Anders remarked offhandedly. "Was she absolutely certain that it was me?"

"She seemed pretty sure," Greagoir confirmed dryly. "No doubt it was an honest mistake."

"I wouldn't know since I never faked my death in front of any elven girls…well, not within the last year or so at least," Anders amended. "But I'm sure that's exactly what happened."

"Right," Greagoir deadpanned. "But regardless of what happened before, the fact remains that you are a mage whose reason for being away from the Circle is no longer valid and who has returned to us so-"

"You're not going to suggest that he stay here, are you?" Angélique Amell asked, scandalized.

"I wasn't about to suggest it, no," Greagoir agreed. "I was about to demand it. We can't have mages just wandering around free, after all, and the law is fully on my side here."

"But…the Tower is under attack. Something tells me that throwing Anders in with the other mages would be kind of a bad idea," Angélique told him seriously.

Greagoir gave a long-suffering sigh. "That is why we won't be putting him with the compromised mages. We can surely keep an eye on one mage while we're waiting for the Rite of Annulment to show up."

"But what will happen after everyone gets all annulled?" Angélique pressed.

"Oh, that would make me the most trusted mage in Ferelden, wouldn't it?" Anders asked brightly. "Would that make me First Enchanter? Staying at the Circle would be horrible but having Irving's job would almost make it worth it. I'd need to leave someone in charge whenever I escaped. Oh! But as First Enchanter I could just assign myself positions outside of the Tower!"

"No, you couldn't be First Enchanter," Greagoir snapped, looking like he was beginning to regret starting this conversation and yet strangely determined to see it through. "We'd import someone from Orlais first."

"Well, I'm not going to stick around here then," Anders declared, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"And just how do you propose that you can manage to walk out of here with dozens of templars right here in this room?" Greagoir challenged.

"Well, I'm sure that I can do nothing to stop you," Anders freely admitted. "However, the most gorgeous woman that I have ever met might be able to do something."

Angélique, recognizing a reference to her when she heard it, beamed. "I'm so sorry to have to do this, Greagoir, because you know that I heart you almost as much as I heart Irving and would like nothing more that to just watch you two bicker for hours but…I am totally conscripting Anders into the Grey Wardens. He's very attractive, great in bed, and properly appreciates me."

Anders coughed. "And I'm great at fighting darkspawn and the Grey Warden treaties require mages to help the Wardens and I'm the only mage available."

"Right that," Angélique agreed, nodding. "Plus, if you're going to be mean and try to take Anders away then I won't kill my way to the bottom of this mystery."

Greagoir began to get the same pounding headache he always got when he spent more than five minutes in Angélique's presence. "But the Grey Wardens can only have one mage at a time," he protested.

"That's a stupid rule," Angélique said bluntly.

"It doesn't matter, that's Chantry policy," Greagoir said firmly.

"Then they can lodge a formal complaint," Angélique said dismissively.

Greagoir clearly had nothing to say to that.

"So now that that's all been settled," Anders said cheerfully. "I suggest we hurry up and go deal with this problem before Alistair gives in to his clear urge to just side with the templars."


	15. Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I normally have a much more sympathetic take on Namaya than this but this is what came to me with the prompt.

Anders would have been perfectly happy had he never seen Namaya again. He was mostly convinced that she'd had her reasons to sell him out to the templars but on the other hand…she had totally sold him out to the templars and disappeared without a trace so he wasn't exactly feeling friendly.

When Namaya showed up at the Keep one day in late Justinian, she did not do so alone. A small blonde girl with the biggest blue eyes he had ever seen was being carried in Namaya's arms. "This is Angelica."

Anders stared down at the child. "I see."

"She's named after your Warden-Commander," Namaya elaborated.

Anders shuddered at the mention of Angélique and eyed the toddler suspiciously to see if having a similar name would make them at all similar in other areas. Angelica looked a lot like a mini-Angélique but he couldn't tell if she were as…special as his Warden-Commander. "Is there any reason that she's here?" he demanded. "Did you get stuck on baby-sitting duty or something? And for that matter, why are you here? You can't possibly expect me to help out with that after the last time we met."

"I'm not babysitting and I'm not asking you to babysit her either," Namaya snapped.

"Well, good," Anders remarked. "But that really only answered half of my questions, you know."

"She's yours, Anders, and I looked after her for two years but now I'm moving to Antiva and so I'm leaving her with you," Namaya said bluntly as she forced Angelica into Anders' protesting arms. She turned to go.

Anders, who had been frozen in horror, suddenly found his voice. "Wait, I…Wait!"

Namaya turned around. "What? I have a boat to catch, you know."

"You can't just leave me with a child!" Anders objected. "Especially not a child named after Angélique!"

"Oh, so now you have a problem with Angélique?" Namaya asked skeptically. "You didn't seem to have one the last time I saw you."

"Well, of course I'm sleeping with her," Anders conceded. "I mean, have you seen her? But that doesn't mean she's not absolutely crazy! Anywhere she happens to be is no place for a child."

"Well that's too bad," Namaya said, sounding mostly indifferent. "I suppose you'll just have to make other arrangements, then. If you need me – and you'd better not – then I'll be in Antiva."

"But…I…how did this even happen?" Anders burst out, flabbergasted.

Namaya shot him a pitying look. "Really? One would think that with all your boasting and your experience that you would have worked that out by now."

"Well, I mean I know where babies come from, obviously, but how did you manage to get pregnant?" Anders demanded. "We were always so careful!"

"Angelica begs to differ," Namaya disagreed.

"I don't understand…we were relying on my spells to keep you from getting pregnant and I always rely on those and so if they didn't work this one time then…by the Maker, I could have dozens of illegitimate children out there!" Anders cried horrified.

"And that is so not my problem," Namaya told him cheerfully. "But hey, if it makes you feel any better, you only have the one from me."

"No, that does not make me feel any better," Anders said flatly.

Namaya shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, I tried."

"Are you ever going to come back or will I be expected to watch her forever?" Anders cried out, feeling a little desperate.

Namaya thought about it. "Unlikely, really. I'd write but then you'd know where to find me and maybe try to send Angelica back. Maybe I can send you a letter before I reach my new home."

Anders looked down at the child in his hands. Her eyes weren't really gleaming with evil…were they?

As Namaya was making her way out of the Keep, Nathaniel stopped her. "That wasn't very nice."

Namaya shrugged again. "Maybe not but he'll get over it."

"Are you really going to Antiva?" Nathaniel asked curiously.

Namaya nodded. "Oh, yes. I've heard wonderful things about the weather there and they, at least, are not still recovering from a Blight."

"They also are run by a professional order of assassins," Nathaniel pointed out.

"I'll be fine," Namaya said flippantly. "Thank you for your concern, though."

"And Angelica?" Nathaniel inquired.

"Her mother should be along around five," Namaya answered. "I'd watch her but, well, I've got to go catch that boat…"


	16. Morrigan

Anders might have had no idea where he was but as he was reasonably sure that the templars didn't either, he was perfectly fine with that. It was just that he was in a distinctly wild-looking area and who knew what he'd find out there? He may have had more experience with the outside world do to his years of hiding his magic but he had never really spent much time in the wilderness. Maybe he'd meet a Dalish clan who would shun him – or worse – for 'choosing' to imprisoned in a tower by the Chantry. He'd seen a Dalish girl once, her face was covered with tattoos and she hadn't seemed to know where she was either. Given that he was lost as well and didn't appreciate it, he rather hoped that she had made it out okay.

"What have we here?" a drawling voice called out from behind him. "An intruder? Mother would know just what to do with you…"

Anders started and spun around to face the woman the voice belonged to. She was…damn, she was the best-looking girl he'd seen in quite some time and her shirt – if it could be called that – left little to the imagination. Her long dark hair was tied up in a bun and her milky skin was unmarred. "An intruder, fair lady? I didn't mean to be one, if I have wandered somewhere I shouldn't be."

"A likely story," the woman said skeptically. There was this feeling that he was getting from her…was she a mage as well? She wasn't carrying a staff or dressed in robes but then, neither was he. It would make him far too obvious of a target for even the most idiotic of templars or other Chantry zealots.

"No, it's true," Anders insisted. "I'm afraid I'm terribly lost. Perhaps you could help me…I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name."

"That would be because my name wasn't thrown," the woman retorted sharply but she looked a little amused. "'Tis no great importance what my name is and why should I tell you mine if you haven't even told me yours?"

"Right, my name is Maric," Anders introduced. It was never smart to give out his real name while escaping or using the same alias too often.

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Maric?"

Anders shrugged. "It's a surprisingly common name. My mother, like most Fereldens, was very grateful to King Maric for having delivered us from the Orlesian occupation and so it was either that or Loghain. She felt that I looked more like the king's portrait than the Teyrn's so there you have it."

"How very unoriginal," the woman remarked dryly. "Then again, I have reason to believe that if my mother had any daughters before me than they were all named 'Morrigan' as well so perhaps 'tis not as unbelievable as I thought."

Something told Anders that being compared to Morrigan's mother wasn't a good thing. He coughed. "I see. Well I, for one, feel that Morrigan is a beautiful name and a fitting one."

A smirk flitted across Morrigan's face. "Such a charmer! Oh, I just know that I could have fun with you."

Anders definitely liked the sound of that. "I like fun."

The smirk widened. "I'm sure you do. Of course, my mother would probably be able to have even more fun than I would…"

Anders definitely didn't like the sound of that. And anyway, threesomes were only interesting if both parties were in some way appealing. Morrigan's mother had to be at least fifty and, to Rylock's eternal frustration, even he had standards. "As intriguing as that sounds, Morrigan, I really should be going. I don't even know where I am, you see, or how to get out of here and I'd rather not have to try to spend the night in a strange wilderness."

"You are in the Korcari Wilds," Morrigan informed him. Impulsively, she added, "And I will lead you out."

Anders nodded his gratitude and began to follow her, hoping that she was really leading him back to civilization and not to her apparently horny mother. He was definitely appreciating the view as she led him to wherever, though.

"You are a mage?" Morrigan asked suddenly.

"I'm about as much of a mage as you are," Anders said simply.

Morrigan nodded, accepting that. "I suppose you live in that 'Circle Tower' then?"

Anders twitched. "Not voluntarily."

"Perhaps you could try to clear something up for me," Morrigan said slowly. " 'Tis something that I've been wondering about for quite awhile and something on which my mother has proven most unhelpful."

"I'd be happy to help if I can," Anders offered.

"I know that the Chantry takes all the mages that they can find and they lock them up in the tower. Tell me this, Maric: Why do the mages consent to live that way? Are they really so weak and stupid?" Morrigan demanded.

Anders shrugged. "I myself was only brought to the Circle a few years back and since my Harrowing-" he stopped at the confused look on her face. "Since I became a full mage and can no longer be executed or have my connection to the Fade and consequentially all of my emotions stripped from me, I've spent more time outside of the tower than inside. The templars try to track you down, of course, and have a vial of your blood with which to do it. Once they catch you, they drag you back and punish you for your escape."

"So many mages try to escape then?" Morrigan inquired.

Anders frowned. "Not many, no. I don't even think most of them think about escaping. They've just been there for so long that they really don't know any better. They don't understand what a dreadful fate being a non-apostate mage in Ferelden is and some of them don't even like to be outside."

"Weak sheep," Morrigan spat. She gestured in front of her. "Keep going for maybe five minutes and you'll find your way out. I'm glad to know that at least some mages aren't as pathetic as I had believed." With that, she turned into a bird and flew away.

Huh, he'd never seen that before. Too bad he hadn't gotten a chance to sleep with her. On the other hand, he hadn't been called upon to sleep with her mother, either, so perhaps he should just consider himself fortunate and move on.


	17. Bann Ferrenly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "After Anders first escaped from the Circle Tower, he saved the life of Bann Ferrenly. This enchanted amulet was a reward for Anders's service and friendship."

The blonde boy looked up at him. "Well, that was embarrassing."

Anders wrung the water out of his hair. "Yes, I imagine it was. I don't even know what you thought you were doing and already I'm a little embarrassed on your behalf."

"I was attempting to teach myself to swim," the boy said, not quite able to meet Anders' eyes.

"You were barely conscious at the bottom of a lake when I happened upon you," Anders pointed out.

"I-I wasn't quite sure how one went about learning how to swim and so I thought that I could try to practice holding my breath first," the boy explained. "Only I had to be under water otherwise I'd just end up cheating. I guess I should have known my limit better." He sheepishly pushed his went bangs out of his face.

"Why didn't you ask someone to teach you how to swim?" Anders demanded. "Or had someone watch you while you practiced so this kind of thing didn't happen. Or even just ask for some advice on how to start!"

"I couldn't do that," the boy protested immediately.

"And why not?" Anders asked, crossing his arms and staring down at the shorter boy.

"Because if I had then one of my guards would have insisted on going with me," the boy explained. "Well, they're probably all tearing out their hair because they don't know where I am right now but had I asked they would have had a much better idea of what I was doing and thus where to search for me."

Anders started. This boy was clearly far more important than he had thought. "Your what? Who are you, anyway?"

"Oh, my apologies," the boy told him. "I am Bann Ferrenly. My mother died in childbirth but you can tell she hated me as she gave me this name."

Anders wasn't quite sure how to respond to that and he had far more pressing concerns anyway. "You're a member of the nobility."

Ferrenly nodded. "And you're a mage."

Anders froze. "I…what?" He forced a laugh. "What a thing to say!"

"It's true," Ferrenly insisted.

"What makes you think that?" Anders asked, hoping his nervousness didn't show.

"My leg was bleeding and now you can't even tell I had hurt it," Ferrenly said matter-of-factly.

Anders winced. Damn his healer's impulse to fix all wounds he came across! He would have to remember this and be more careful on his next escape. "I do? Huh."

"Oh, I'm not going to turn you in if that's what you're worried about," Ferrenly assured him.

Anders's eyes widened and he stared suspiciously at the bann. "You're not?"

"Of course not. Mage or not, you saved my life and it would be awfully ungrateful for me to turn you in to the Chantry for that. Maker knows that that might just encourage you to leave the next sorry bastard you find sitting at the bottom of a lake down there to drown," Ferrenly replied.

Andes knew that he shouldn't question his unexpected good fortune. Well, that would be another lesson for his next escape. "But…it's the law."

Ferrenly shrugged. "Yes, well Father used to say that the Chantry was a very Orlesian institution and my family suffered greatly under the occupation they endorsed. Truthfully, I'm not very fond of them although I know better than to spread that around."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "And yet you'll tell me?"

Ferrenly smirked. "Yes, wanted apostate, I do think that somehow telling you will not really negatively impact me. You know, it's convenient that I don't like the Chantry because I'm not even sure that I like the Maker."

Anders blinked. That wasn't the sort of thing he heard every day. "What do you mean?"

"You would think that the Chantry would be the Maker's greatest advocate, yes?" Ferrenly asked rhetorically. "And that they would try to present the Maker in the greatest light?"

"That does stand to reason, yes," Anders confirmed.

"Well, if the Maker's own devoted honestly believe that he cursed all of Thedas with the darkspawn centuries ago because a handful of mages dared to visit his Golden City, that he wrote off all of Thedas until Andraste caught his attention, and then decided to write us all off again because a handful of people killed her, etcetera then I'm not sure that I'm a fan," Ferrenly said bluntly.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Anders trailed off.

"Oh, it's not me that's putting it that way," Ferrenly corrected. "That's the Chantry's own position."

"So…now what?" Anders asked uncertainly. "Should I just leave?"

"And go where?" Ferrenly asked, amused. "You're a wanted apostate, remember?"

"I certainly can't stay here," Anders objected.

"And why not?" Ferrenly inquired. "Come and stay at my estate for a few days. I daresay it's been some time since you've had a proper meal."

"The Circle wouldn't know a 'proper meal' if it bit them on the ass," Anders agreed.

"There's just one catch," Ferrenly said, looking serious.

Anders frowned. "Catch?" He didn't like the sound of that.

"I can't very well have a guest under my roof whose name I don't know!" Ferrenly exclaimed. "In fact, I don't even care if you give me your real name or not, I just need something to call you and obviously 'wanted apostate' will be out unless I want to cause a commotion."

As it happened, Anders had not been intending to give his real name but he changed his mind at the last second. "Anders. My name is Anders."

"Well, Anders, something tells me that you're going to make my life interesting for the next few days," Ferrenly declared, pleased. He reached up and removed a chain from around his neck and held it out. "Here, have an amulet."

Anders blinked. "…Just like that you're giving me an amulet?"

Ferrenly shrugged. "Eh, why not? Are you going to take it? It would be most inconsiderate of you to refuse a gift."

Reluctantly, Anders took the amulet in his hand. "This just seems a little spontaneous and I wouldn't want to…is this enchanted?"

"It is," Ferrenly confirmed. "I don't remember what the enchantments mean, however."

"This will help with my healing and mental fortitude," Anders explained.

"Does this mean that you'll accept it?" Ferrenly pressed.

Anders smiled. "Yes, I'll accept it. Although that is such an odd way to give a gift."

Ferrenly shrugged again. "I'm a noble. A little eccentricity is almost expected."


	18. Anders Has a Secret

"…Do I even want to know?" Nathaniel asked from the doorway, scaring Anders half to death. Still, he played it cool.

"Do you even want to know what, exactly?" Anders asked casually, looking and sounding for all the world like nothing was even remotely odd about their current situation.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Nathaniel demanded, rubbing his eyes.

"No, I do not," Anders replied calmly. "Is it important?"

"It is three in the morning," Nathaniel said flatly.

Anders blinked. "Really? That's rather early. Or late, depending on if you went to bed already or not."

"So it is," Nathaniel agreed. He seemed to be waiting for Anders to say something.

"So what are you doing here so early or late?" Anders asked after the silence stretched on so long as to begin to unnerve him.

"I could ask you the same thing," Nathaniel remarked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You absolutely could," Anders readily agreed. "Except that, you know, I asked first."

"I came down here because I smelled something cooking and went to go see what it was and who was making it," Nathaniel explained. "That was when I heard the singing."

Anders looked around nervously. "Singing? What singing? Are you sure it was me? And that you're feeling well? In fact, are you absolutely positive that you're even awake right now?"

"Pretty sure," Nathaniel replied dryly. "And until I began speaking, I actually saw you singing something about sticking to the status quo."

"And why shouldn't I want to stick to the status quo?" Anders demanded. "I don't know about you but my status quo is pretty nice right now. I don't have to live in the Tower, I'm not being hunted down by templars who look increasingly closer to just killing me, and I don't even have to hide my magic. Combine that with the pretty girl I'm sleeping with and the seemingly unlimited funds the Grey Wardens keep managing to accrue and this is the best status quo I have ever had."

"Be that as it may, that doesn't explain why you were singing about it," Nathaniel said, still appearing bemused. "Or why you were cooking…whatever it is that you are cooking."

Anders looked torn and remained quiet for a moment. Finally, he said hesitantly, " Can you keep a secret?"

"I can," Nathaniel acknowledged.

"Will you?" Anders pressed.

"I will," Nathaniel confirmed.

Still, Anders wavered. "Would it be too much to ask you to give me your word as a Howe? That may not mean much to most people but I know it's important to you and surely you wouldn't risk further dishonoring it by breaking your promise to me."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at this childish behavior. "Anders, just get on with it."

"Right," Anders said, clearing his throat. "I bake. Strudels, scones, even apple pandowdy." He gestured towards the stove. "Someday, I hope to make the perfect crème brulée."

"Okay…" Nathaniel said slowly. "I don't see why that's a big secret. It is a little odd that I've known you for four years and yet never knew this about you but other than that, I don't see what the big deal is."

"I can't be good at cooking!" Anders exclaimed urgently.

Nathaniel looked doubtful. "Why not?"

"Because if anyone knew then they'd make me help out when we're on the road," Anders explained matter-of-factly.

"So you're hiding your cooking abilities to get out of work," Nathaniel summarized, unimpressed.

"Precisely," Anders agreed. "And you can't tell anyone unless you're willing to sacrifice your precious Howe honor."

Nathaniel gave a long-suffering sigh. "And the singing?"

"You can't tell anybody about that, either," Anders replied promptly.

"Why?" Nathaniel asked sarcastically. "Are you afraid you'll be asked to entertain people while on the road now?"

"I had not thought to worry about that," Anders confessed. "Although now that you mention it…but no, that's not it. I'm a mage."

"And that has what, exactly, to do with singing?" Nathaniel demanded.

"I can't be a mage and a singer!" Anders insisted. "That would be like…like you being a noble and a pick-pocket!"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, bad example," Anders admitted. "But it just can't be done!"

"Why not?" Nathaniel pressed.

"I…don't actually know," Anders conceded. "But it can't."

Nathaniel began muttering under his breath and Anders was fairly certain that he caught the words 'crazy mages.' "So you're reduced to the singing and the baking in the middle of the night?"

"I haven't been caught yet," Anders said with a nod. "Well…unless you count by the dog but he can keep a secret."

"Right," Nathaniel said decisively, spinning on his heel. "I'm going back to bed."

"But…but I haven't told you about the hip hop and my cello-playing yet!" Anders called after him.

Nathaniel kept walking.

"If you leave now, you won't get to have any of the crème brulée!" Anders cried out. "And while it's not quite perfect yet, it is most certainly getting there!"

Nathaniel paused. He turned and inhaled the succulent scent wafting from the oven.

He sighed and came back towards Anders. "Alright, fine. Tell me all about your completely unnecessary secret life as a singing cello-playing hip-hopping baker mage. This had better be some good crème brulée…"


	19. Blood Magic

Anders had never been a fan of physical pain. There was the obvious reason that it hurt, of course, and then there was the fact that it looked bad and could maybe even scar. Besides, when he got hurt that just meant that he was doing something wrong and he hated that feeling. When he got hurt and others didn't, it usually meant that they were doing something better than him and that was something that he couldn't stand.

Somehow or another, his distaste about injuries had led everyone to believe that he was being called to be a healer. Since healers could take care of injuries in a heartbeat and make sure that their own injuries were treated long before there was a risk of scarring, Anders had to say that he honestly didn't mind. Of course, the more he studied healing the more he came to dislike injuries (it was a vicious cycle, really) and so the idea of purposely injuring oneself had just struck him as completely unnatural even without all the sanctions the Chantry had passed.

In the healing area of the tower, a girl with tiny scars all over her body and who had always worn clothes that made sure to cover every last one had just been brought in. She had had a temperature and when her sleeves had been rolled at one point the scars had been discovered. Further investigation revealed further scars and the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter themselves had been summoned.

Anders hadn't been paying much attention until those two got there and then everything started happening all at once. There was a lot of shouting and, despite the girl's illness, the templars hauled her off. It was difficult to hear over everyone talking at once but Anders did manage to catch one thing: blood magic.

Anders face twisted with disgust at the thought and Senior Enchanter Wynne spotted his expression.

"I take it that you do not approve of blood magic then?" Wynne asked conversationally.

Anders shrugged. "I think that you would be hard-pressed to find someone who was not themselves a blood mage who did."

"You're probably right," Wynne agreed. "Poor Tanna. I never even would have suspected. I mean, there was the fact that she insisted on covering up so much of herself but I had just thought that might be some self-image issues…"

"What do you think that the templars are going to do with her?" Anders asked, biting his lower lip.

Wynne suddenly looked every day her age. "If she's lucky, she's already dead."

"And if she's not lucky?" Anders pressed. He wasn't really sure that he wanted to know but just the same he knew that the curiosity would keep gnawing at him until it drove him mad.

"If she's not lucky then it may be some time before she's at peace," Wynne replied quietly. "She had to have known the risks when she became a blood mage and I know that but…Greagoir is there now and so hopefully it will go as smoothly as possible. She was fortunate to have been discovered in the tower."

"She didn't really look dangerous," Anders said, frowning.

"A mage should know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving," Wynne returned. "So why do you dislike blood magic, Anders? The Chantry teaches that it is evil, of course, but you're not particularly reverent."

"I'm not," Anders admitted. "Something about the way that the Chantry also teaches that I'm a danger to the world and need to be locked up doesn't really sit right with me, I don't really know why."

"Then what is it?" Wynne pressed, her lips pursed in silent disapproval of his words.

"Blood magic can be used to hurt a lot of people," Anders replied. "I mean, we've all heard the stories about ancient Tevinter, right? And even if all of them aren't true they still serve to make people more afraid of mages. If it weren't for the fact that everyone thought that we could control their minds then they would probably be a lot less scared of us. Every blood mage that's out there now is just further damaging our reputations and convincing the Chantry even further that keeping such close surveillance on us is necessary."

"Mages turn to blood magic to try and seek freedom and only inevitably make things worse," Wynne mused. "Yes, I've seen that happen time and time again."

"And also-" Anders cut himself off.

"And also?" Wynne repeated encouragingly.

Anders blushed. "I'd rather not say."

"Oh, come now. I would hardly laugh at you for opposing blood magic, no matter what your reasons might be," Wynne assured him. "Even if you only opposed it because you passed out at the sight of blood, I would still not laugh at you."

"I don't pass out at the sight of blood!" Alistair exclaimed.

"I know you don't," Wynne agreed. "It was only an example."

Anders exhaled. "Right then. I really hate injuries of all kind."

Wynne nodded. "That's not unusual in a healer."

"The thought of injuring yourself on purpose, even to power a spell…" Anders trailed off, shaking his head. "I just can't imagine. I mean…ew. Just ew."

Despite her words, Wynne looked like she was fighting a smile. "So you have this great philosophical justification to explain your distaste for blood magic…and you also find it gross."

"You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"I'm not," Wynne insisted, the corners of her mouth twitching up all the same.

Anders eyes narrowed and he refused to speak to her for the rest of the week.


	20. Tranquill

When Anders was seven years old, his mother took him to Denerim with her after making sure that he understood that he was to stay with her at all times and to not go running off and get lost. He had spent most of his life in a quiet village and so the atmosphere was a little much for him. There was so much to see and the noises and sounds threatened to overwhelm him so his mother took him into the nearest shop.

"Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas," the most monotonous voice Anders had ever heard greeted them.

Anders had never heard of this store but he knew what Thedas was and so he immediately looked around, trying to spot the wonders. He had just reached for a little golem doll when he saw a head preserved in what appeared to be honey and quickly turned away and came face-to-face with a pair of glass slippers resting against a large jade oval-thing. He saw chisels and carvings done on stone, wood, and metal. There was an entire table full of a tube coming out of a bowl along with some containers of some dried leaves.

He would have kept looking around if his mother hadn't pulled him with her to the front to speak with the store proprietor.

"Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas," the proprietor repeated in that same dead voice. "How may I assist you?" He was wearing mage robes and had some sort of marking on his forehead but though Anders had never actually seen a mage in person before, he had expected them to look a little bit more…real. Anders himself sometimes thought that it would be cool to be a mage and to be able to shoot lightning out of his hands and heal himself when he got hurt but since if he was a mage the evil templars would come by and take him away forever, he was perfectly fine not being one. He would be even gladder not to be a mage if all mages were like this one.

Anders tugged at his mother's sleeve. "What's wrong with him?" he whispered.

Unfortunately, the mage appeared to hear him. "Nothing is the matter with me." No change in inflection whatsoever. That was just not right.

"Then why don't you talk like a normal person?" Anders challenged.

His mother looked horrified. "Anders! Don't be rude!"

"I am not offended," the mage assured his mother, his words coming out at the same slow pace as they had before. "I am one of the Tranquil."

"What's a Tranquil?" Anders pressed.

The Tranquil decided to answer Anders' question with one of his own. "Do you know why mages are feared?"

Promptly, Anders responded with, "Because the Chantry doesn't want to lose the power they have by being the ones to control the mages and so they take the dangers an untrained mage poses and lock them in a tower forever. It also lets them keep an army."

His mother gave him a look that suggested that she would dearly like to throttle him but said nothing. Apparently that was one of those things they talked about at home that he wasn't supposed to tell other people about.

"Magic is dangerous," the Tranquil said as flatly as he said anything. "Aside from the tyranny that mages have displayed in the past, magical power attracts demons and spirits who seek to possess us and turn us into horrible creatures called abominations. Even those without much magical talent can be possessed and any mage can learn blood magic from these demons even should they escape possession. There is only one way to cease being dangerous and that is to become a Tranquil. I give up my magic and my emotions and I am content to no longer be such a risk to myself and others."

While his mother bought a cheap trinket since they had stopped by here anyway and she always felt guilty if she wasted the proprietor's time, Anders continued to stare at the Tranquil in horror. He thought it was kind of weird that you couldn't get rid of magic without emotions. He thought that if he were a mage then maybe he might be willing to get rid of his magic to avoid being kidnapped by the evil templars but he could never give up his emotions as well. Did this man give up his voluntarily or did they ever force people to do that?

The Tranquil proprietor didn't seem to care but then he didn't have emotions so how could he have a problem with it? Fear and anger were emotions, after all, as was longing for the way that it used to be. Somehow the thought that someone could hate the idea of being Tranquil more than anything and had to be tied down to have the process down and then once it was over was perfectly content was one of the creepiest things about it. Anders almost wanted to ask the proprietor what had happened to him but decided against it. Either he was the kind of person who had no problem giving away his emotions forever or he was a victim who didn't even understand why he should be pitied.

Anders did know one thing, though: should he ever turn out to be a mage becoming a Tranquil was the very last thing he'd be willing to do.


	21. What do you do with a drunken sailor?

It wasn't in Anders' nature to turn down free sex. This had gotten him into quite a bit of trouble in the past and he really should have learned from these experiences – or so he mused when dealing with the consequences of this policy – but somehow he never did. It wasn't exactly something that he was proud of but he was hardly ashamed of it, either. It was just one of those things about him, as constant as being a mage.

Anders had few constants when he was on the run and hated virtually every constant he had when he wasn't and so the few he could find in freedom were important to him. That was why he was seriously wishing that he had never met Lydia (if that was even her real name. As he was currently calling himself Nathaniel he was in no position to judge).

It wasn't that Lydia looked to be underage; there was no way an underage girl had a body like that. It wasn't like she had an annoying voice. Sure, it wasn't particularly appealing but it was just a normal-sounding voice and he could quite easily listen to it for the few hours that he'd know her. It wasn't even that she had an ugly face (or that that would have stopped him because he had dealt with that on more than one occasion in the past and had had a very nice time regardless). Quite the contrary, in fact, because Lydia had smoky grey eyes and the plumpest lips he'd ever seen. Her teeth were sparkling white and perfectly straight. Her long red hair was cascading down her shoulders and looked so soft and inviting. Most importantly, she clearly wanted him.

Normally, Anders would have been delighted. Unfortunately…well…

"Oh the pirate's life is the life for me!" Lydia sang out a little off-key. "Please, Maker, let Nathaniel sleep with me!"

Anders covered his face with his hands. He had actually been involved with drunk sex before although usually both parties were wasted. Just…not quite this wasted. "Why me?"

The bartender chuckled. "Not to worry. At the rate she's going she'll be passed out soon enough. You'd think that a sailor and a regular would be able to hold their liquor better but no matter how many times Lydia comes in here, she still starts to get tipsy before she even finished the first glass."

"I'll be a better time than my mum! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" Lydia belted out.

Some of the other patrons began to cheer and clap to the rhythm – such as it was – to encourage her. She really didn't need the encouragement.

"Where is she even getting these lyrics from?" Anders wondered vaguely. Why was he even still sitting here? He needed to make his escape. Somehow, though, he just couldn't bring himself to look away from this brewing disaster.

"She's making them up on the spot," the bartender decided. "I've certainly never heard them before and some of them are awfully specific."

"I am a girl not a giraffe! I'd love to touch his magic staff!" Lydia chimed in.

"Like that," the bartender said helpfully.

Anders froze. How had she known? He had to get out of here. A quick glance around showed that no one seemed to be particularly alarmed but Lydia's revelation that he was a mage.

" 'Magic staff', huh?" the bartender scoffed. "That's original."

Anders relaxed. So she wasn't outing him as a mage after all, she was just continuing to talk about sex. Which he most definitely wasn't going to be having with her. Seriously, there was nothing even remotely sexy about giraffes. In fact, he was almost getting embarrassed sitting here listening to her sing about him. And was there something the matter with him that when a pretty girl – even if she was too drunk to sleep with – spoke about his 'magic staff' his mind first jumped to magic? By the Maker, he wasn't getting old, was he? Perish the thought.

"I'd like another drink," he said aloud.

The bartender quickly passed him one. "I can just imagine."

"Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? If we have enough fun we'll need a healer!" Lydia crooned.

"That didn't even rhyme," the bartender noted. "Have no fear, she should be out soon."

"Fortunately she seems to have forgotten all about me for all she won't stop singing about me," Anders returned, concealing a wince. He was a healer and all of the probably accidental allusions to him and magic – because what kind of a drunk was subtle? – were driving him almost to distraction.

"Tonight you've had a bit of luck," Lydia sang determinedly even as she began to sway on her feet. "Now, Nathaniel, let's go and f-"

Mercifully, that was when she toppled over.

Another pretty redhead who looked like she could be related to Lydia stood with a sigh. "I'll take her home."

Anders didn't allow himself to feel safe until Lydia had been carried out of sight.

"I've got to tell you, Nathaniel, that that is some timing," the bartender marveled. "If she'd stayed on her feet any longer, your virtue might have been in jeopardy." She said it with a straight face, too.

Anders sighed. "It's really too bad that she turned out to be a lightweight. I was really looking forward to getting some action tonight."

"I was, too," the bartender confided. "Unfortunately, whenever Lydia comes by all the guys either leave or never take their eyes off of her."

As Anders nodded sympathetically, a thought occurred to him. The bartender was a girl and not a bad-looking one either. She wasn't drunk and she wasn't looking for anything more than he was willing to give her. He looked over at her again to try and gauge his chances.

Fortunately, she seemed to have the same idea.


End file.
